


He's My Brother

by johnnywalkerblu



Category: Simon and Simon (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 16:24:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2031792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnnywalkerblu/pseuds/johnnywalkerblu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or the backstory about AJ's first brush with death, and how Rick saved him.  Referenced in 'Good Samaritan'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He's My Brother

“AJ! AJ come on!” Sixteen-year-old Rick Simon grabs his sweat-stained Yankees cap off his head, and runs a hand over his dark brush cut. He’d like to keep it a little longer on top, but every year, once they get out of school, mom takes them to the barber shop and gets them butched. She wouldn’t be much for his faded black T-shirt or the holes in the knees of his jeans either, but she’s off with Aunt Edie doing some book exchange thing up in Oceanside, and they’re only going to the beach. If his little brother would hurry the hell up. “AJ!” 

“Calm down and stop bellowing, I’m coming.” At the tender age of eleven, the younger Simon looks like a stockbroker on his day off. Blindingly white AllStars, laced all the way and neatly tied. Bathing suit on under clean chinos. White T-shirt. Pale blue, short-sleeved plaid shirt, buttoned all the way up in mother approved fashion. Sweatshirt in one hand, in case it turns cold. Mask and snorkel in the other, carefully wrapped in a clean towel. 

AJ’s own Yankees cap is the same pristine dark blue it was when Uncle Ray took them out of his bag and handed them over the last time he passed through San Diego. Of course the kid doesn’t play baseball in the park every time he gets a chance, and he doesn’t have a job after school at the gas station either. Nope, not AJ. Mom says school is his job, and he gets to spend his summers at the library and museums, and delaying Rick’s few hours of freedom.

“Finally.” Rick snorts, tugging his hat back on. “Grab the bag on the table. It’s got our lunch in it.”

“Can’t you get it?” AJ lifts his hands and gives Rick that ‘help me’ look that works with every person in his life.

Except his brother. “No.” Rick is shoving his wallet into his back pocket and grabbing a threadbare towel with his name printed in black marker on the hem. “I need both hands to steer.”

AJ stops dead, mouth falling open. “No way. Unhuh. No way am I getting on that motorcycle with you again. You don’t even have a license.”

“You don’t need a license for a dirt bike.” Rick’s big hand lands in the middle of his younger brother’s shirt and he tugs, then shoves, pushing AJ out the kitchen door.

“Mom said no, Rick.”

Pulling his house key out of the lock and looping its worn string back around his neck, Rick closes his eyes and counts to ten. “AJ. Mom’s not here. You wanna walk the ten miles? Huh? Do you?”

“But Mom...if she catches us, you’re going to be in trouble.”

And isn’t that the truth? “Well, you won’t be, will you? So shut up. And live a little, for shit’s sake.”

Silence reigns until Rick jumps on the kickstand and starts the bike, waiting while AJ climbs carefully on behind him and gets himself settled. “Hold on.” the older Simon gruffs, and then takes off, tailpipe roaring.

AJ almost bites his tongue, and clasps his hands farther around his big brother’s lean waist, holding tight. He’ll never admit it to a soul, but he loves being with Rick like this. He’s always been in awe of his brother’s unconscious grace, his economy of movement. Whether its baseball or swimming or breaking the speed limit, and a lot of other laws, as they move in and out of traffic on the way west, it’s good in a way AJ can’t really define, except that these times are some of the few where he can sense that Rick feels okay with the world. 

So AJ rests his chin on Rick’s shoulder, knowing that, no matter what he said, or what his mother thinks, he’s safe here. Rick built this thing, Rick knows what it can do. Rick’s got it, and AJ just enjoys the rush.

Then they’re pulling up in the parking lot of Silver Strand State Beach, and Rick cuts the engine, tipping the bike onto its kickstand so hard that AJ nearly falls off, and does finally bite his tongue.

“Hey, Rick.” 

Since AJ is still holding on for dear life, he feels the deep breath his older brother draws, and the speeding in his pulse. It’s Kim Steele. Fifteen with a bullet and the most expensive girl in their neighborhood, dressed in a French bathing suit and a white see-through coverup. Not to mention that she’s flashing a class ring, carefully wrapped with yarn so it fits her slimmer finger, from Barry Gordon, who is the captain of the football team. 

“Hey Kim. How’s the water.”

A pretty shrug. “Who knows. Some of us are set up over past the point. C’mon over. If you want.”

Even to him, there’s really very little doubt about what Kim wants, and AJ waits. It wouldn’t be the first time Rick ditched him, told him to stay out of the water and just walked off, though it’s never been with anyone as pretty as this girl. But Rick’s way too smart to fall for what she’s trying, so AJ’s pretty sure what’s coming.

“Sounds fun.” Rick answers, reaching back and peeling AJ off him like a particularly sticky Band-Aid. “But I gotta be at work at five, and keep an eye on the kid here until then.”

“Suit yourself. But I’ll save you a beer.”

The look on Rick’s face is an education in itself as he watches the girl walk away. “C’mon Aje.” he says finally, slapping road dust off his jeans with his cap and then tugging his shirt off over his head. “Let’s find a spot.”

The beach is crowded, and the only place left where they can stake out room for their towels is right by the limit signs. “Stay here.” Rick is striding across the sand to the lifeguard stand, half climbing the ladder and talking to the older kid that’s manning it.

“He says the rip’s bad at this end.” Rick is unbuttoning and pushing his jeans down his long legs. “And that means you stay away from it, hear me? Don’t go outside past the break either. It’s deep there and you’re not big enough.”

“I can…”

“AJ.”

“You’re going to go out there. And I can swim as well as you can. Maybe better with my mask. So…”

“So you’re going to mind me and stay where I said.” The older brother’s aquamarine glare is centered on the younger brother’s china blue eyes. “I didn’t hear you.”

“What? I…”

“I didn’t hear you, AJ.”

“Yes.” he whispers, blushing hard, lips numb with embarrassment. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“Yes, Rick. I’ll stay inside. Okay?”

Stern features soften just the slightest, and for a minute his older brother looks so much like their dad it tears at AJ’s heart. “Okay. I’m gonna be in trouble for bringing you on the bike, so don’t go drowning on me.”

AJ manages a smile. “Promise.”

For a while everything’s fine. AJ can see Rick outside, in the deep blue water, hanging around with a couple of his classmates and their girlfriends. From time to time, through wind and wave, he can hear his brother’s voice, his easy laughter with his friends, and he relaxes, starting to enjoy the day.

The heavy tides lately have brought in a ton of stuff from the deep ocean, and AJ has made a small pile between their towels as he wades back and forth, blowing out his snorkel. A pretty piece of quartz, the flat end of a Coke bottle, rubbed to smooth perfection by the action of sand and water, and a couple of big shells, completely whole, that mom will like. 

A thrill runs up his spine as he braces against a wave, then holds his breath and takes a deeper dive. Something shiny, glinting in the wavering rays of sun from the surface. It’s a silver dollar, Miss Liberty on its face, and he clutches it in his palm, thinking to shoot to the surface and yell for Rick. Until he sees another one, farther out, and then another.

**********

Pushing to the surface, brushing water off his chest as he wades out onto the warmth of the beach and heads for the pale square of his towel, Rick looks around for AJ, thinking it’s time they ate. He’s starving, so AJ’s probably hungry too. Then he sees the little collection of junk dripping into the sand, so the kid can’t have been gone too long. He’s reaching into the paper bag for one of mom’s gingersnaps, thinking he should take a walk around and look for his brother, when he hears the piercing whistle and sees the college kid he talked to up in the lifeguard seat pointing out toward the rip.

Rick’s twenty feet from shore before he even knows his feet have moved, pulling himself through the water, turning his chin under his arm, blocking the wave to breathe, just the way Dad taught him, filling his lungs as deep as he can. Though he doesn’t see it, there’s a commotion behind him as the guards get their little raft in the water and head out, the crowd gathering behind them on the sand, gawking.

A terrified cry gets to him, and Rick feels his stomach cramp at the utter fear in AJ’s voice. Pulling up, treading water, trying to gauge distance and direction, he shouts, forcing his voice as deep as it will go. “AJ! I’m coming, kiddo. But you gotta save your breath. Hear me? Take deep breaths and stop yelling. And tread. Keep moving, okay? Just like I taught you. Then you call my name. Then count to twenty and call my name again. AJ? AJ?”

“Rick!” he hears, panic dragging the younger boy’s voice to its upper range. “Rick please! I’m gonna…”

His stomach cramps again, harder, pain shooting down his legs. “No! No sir, no way. I’m coming, AJ. I promise. You stick with me, damn it. Hear me? DO YOU HEAR ME?”

“Rick.” Softer this time, steadier. “I counted to twenty.”

_Damn,_ Rick thinks, _what a kid. Please let me save him._ “Good job, AJ. Remember what Dad taught us. Fill your lungs all the way with every breath.” 

Rick does the same, remembering other words his father said, big hand resting on his elder son’s dark hair, the sweet smoke from his pipe drifting around both their heads. _Counting on you to keep an eye on him, Rick. When he reaches out, you be there. I’d better not ever find out you weren’t._ “Yes, sir.” he mutters, striking out toward the sound of AJ’s voice.

Good a swimmer as he is, Rick can feel his endurance flagging by the time he gets a glimpse of his brother. The rip is dragging the kid out to sea, and even with everything he’s put into it, he’s not going to catch up. The idea comes to him in a flash, and he doesn’t think about it even as long as a heartbeat before launching himself into the current.

“Did that kid just…” The head lifeguard, who is a senior at USC and has hopes as an Olympic swimmer is staring even as he paddles the raft out over the breakers.

“He sure as shit did.” His younger partner, who’s on scholarship at Pepperdine, is swallowing hard, ducking his head to paddle faster. He’s never seen a drowning, and he doesn’t want to, and two in the same day is a horror he can’t even think about for long.

“What the hell?”

“Guy on the beach said they’re brothers.”

A rip current is quite the ride, and Rick fights his body’s instinctive panic as the water carries him out, trying to drag him under as the sea floor falls away. _AJ deserves a medal for even making it through this part,_ he thinks, stroking hard for the surface after what feels like the hundredth time he’s been pounded to the bottom, hearing the kid call his name as he breaks the plane. It’s loud now. Close. 

Rick’s weary heart soars when he sees his brother’s bright blonde head less than five yards out. The kid’s treading water just like he was taught. Breathing. Counting.

“Coming, kid.” he pants. “I’m coming.” And he’s there, diving down to come up behind his brother. That’s another thing he learned from Dad, never get within grabbing distance of a swimmer in trouble, they’ll take you down with them, no matter who they are. “Okay kiddo, I’m here.” Treading water slowly, he pushes gently on AJ’s butt and cups his neck in the other hand. “Lean back. Breathe out. Float. I know…it’s crazy, kid, but…it’ll work.”

Pride surges through him as AJ nods, leaning back, letting Rick and the churning water take his weight, taking longer, slower breaths as he relaxes, and, just as nature intended, starts to float. “Good job, AJ. They’ll be here in a minute or two.”

“I’m sorry, Rick.” The younger boy’s fish-white, pruny hands start flailing in the water. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone after them.”

“AJ, stop! Relax! Just relax. Whatever you did, it doesn’t mean shit now…”

“But I gotta tell you. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. And now I’m gonna, we’re gonna…”

“We’re gonna be fine.” Rick grits out, ignoring the cold and the cramps and the stitch in his side. Not to mention the cough he can feel trying to work its way free of his throat. All signs that he’s waterlogged. He knows that he could very well die here; his exhausted body isn’t going to make it back without some kind of help. But he’s not going to allow his little brother to get that kind of thought in his head.

“Rick.” AJ is crying now, his terror and sorrow able to be expressed to the one person that will never rank on him for it. “There were silver dollars Rick. On the bottom. I saw them. That’s why I went out that far. That’s why I reached into the rip. I just wanted…”

“Hey, hey.” Rick clears his throat hard, and gets his mouth back above the surface, forcing the cough down. “It doesn’t matter.” Voices break through to them, rising and falling as they move through the waves, and Rick closes his eyes and says a little thank you to whomever or whatever brought this about, not even considering how much he had to do with it. “They’re here, AJ. We’re getting out of this, just like I said.”

The younger lifeguard is off the raft, swimming around Rick, taking his place with AJ, holding him still while the older one tries to keep the raft steady in the swells. It’s a near thing, but the three of them get AJ settled on the shiny surface. Just in time too, because the cough finally gets through and Rick doesn’t even realize he’s gone under until the older lifeguard gets a forearm under his chin and yanks his head above water.

He can’t really hear what’s being shouted in his ear, and he isn’t coordinated enough to keep himself afloat any longer. All he wants is to rest, to stop moving, to be warm. The roughness of a rope is shoved into his hands and the lifeguard pushes Rick’s numbed fingers closed around it. They want him to hold on, he gets that much, but the trip back to shore will always be lost to him. The next bit of reality he exists in is the lifeguard that saved him pounding on his chest, muttering to himself, _"come on, kid, breathe."_

Tearing agony then as he tries to do just that and a good gallon of the Pacific comes out. From his mouth and his nose and his aching stomach. Curling on his side to fight the agony, Rick can hear AJ calling his name, frantic and afraid, and he tries to answer only to vomit another rush of ocean.

Snatches of conversation come through as he feels a rough blanket being draped over his shivering body. The other lifeguard is telling AJ that everything’s going to be fine, that getting the water out is a good thing, and not to worry about the red tinge in the puddle that Rick just made, salt water scours a person’s guts a little bit.

Rick’s just getting his head up when the crowd goes absolutely silent and two of San Diego’s finest push through to the front, the lead one a tall, hefty guy with ‘Cambridge’ on his nameplate. “What’s going on? We got a swimmer in distress call. Tell the truth we got a ton of ‘em. Everybody okay?”

Rick nods, pulling his knees up under his chin and wrapping the blanket around him, too wracked with cramps and shudders to notice that AJ is a weeping mess, shock making him pale and shaky.

“Charlie, get these nice people to move along, huh?” Cambridge is saying. “Then call in and tell dispatch this situation is resolved.” The officer squats down between them and pushes his cap back on his head. “You guys want to enlighten me? Tell me what the hell happened out there?”

“I…” AJ begins, and stops short when Rick kicks his ankle.

“You?” The cop is watching closely. 

“He got caught in the rip.” Rick croaks, coughing, hawking, spitting more salt water and pink mucus onto the sand. “And I went out and got him.”

“Because?”

His eyes feel pickled, but Rick forces them open and looks earnestly at the older man. “He’s my brother.”

“Oh.” Gaze flicking between the two boys; the cop shrugs. “I honestly didn’t see that, you don’t look much alike.”

Nope, Rick thinks. You got that right. We don’t. The golden boy and the changeling. That’s what we are.

“Where’re your parents? Here?” Cambridge looks around, but clearly these two are on their own.

“Our Mom’s in Oceanside doing book club stuff.” AJ volunteers. “But we don’t have a Dad. He’s dead.” The words seem to uncork something in the younger Simon, and he bursts into tears. 

Rick throws the blanket off and reaches for the blonde kid, holding his hand tightly, giving strength. “Relax, AJ. Everything’s gonna be purely okay, kiddo. Promise.”

Still sobbing, the younger boy clings to the older boy’s hand and manages a nod.

“Okay.” Cambridge gets to his feet and shoots a glance back over his shoulder. “You both need a doctor before this goes any further.”

“No.” Rick pulls himself up to stand in front of the policeman, his lean body looking almost skeletal. “We’re fine. I mean, if you gotta take us somewhere, take us home. Please?” He can hardly walk, and he knows that he can’t manage the bike right now. No way in hell.

“We gotta make a report, kid. Your mom’s gonna find out, you know. One way or another.”

“I don’t care. It’s all my fault anyway, so…”

Cambridge stares at the dark-haired teenager. Saving his little brother from drowning is his fault?

“Okay. Okay. Get your stuff. Give the lifeguards back their blankets and get in the car.” Still sniffling, AJ goes and picks up their shoes and clothes and towels. The things he collected from the ocean he leaves right there on the beach, kicking himself for his own stupidity.

They dress, standing by the black and white, and AJ realizes that the one thing he can’t find is Rick’s hat. He goes and looks again, but it’s nowhere to be found. “What are you doing kid?” Rick sounds like a twenty year smoker, and he looks like someone beat him up, so AJ doesn’t really want to add to that, but… “Your cap…I can’t find it. It’s not there.”

“It doesn’t matter, kid.” But AJ can see by the slump of his brother’s shoulders that it does. They don’t get to see Uncle Ray hardly at all, and he brought those hats specially, right from New York City. The other policeman, Charlie, is holding the door open. “Get in AJ.” Rick mutters, running a hand through his salt-stiffened hair.

“But…”

“But nothing. Just get in.”

Because he can hear that Rick means business, AJ does, sliding across the seat and dragging their stuff across behind him. Then he watches, his mouth drawn down into a trembling bow, as his brother grabs for the open car door and throws up again. Not nearly as much this time, but still ocean, more pink than red thankfully. He reaches, catching hold of the tail of Rick’s T-shirt as Rick retches, again and again. AJ hates that sound, has always hated it, and to hear it coming from his brother, because of what he did, brings the tears back to his eyes.

“I still think you need a doctor.” Cambridge has walked up close, and AJ breathes a little easier as the policeman puts a concerned hand on Rick’s back. “Salt water can poison you if you get enough of it.”

“I’m ok.” Rick chokes. Then spits and coughs and spits again. “I just want to go home. Please?”

“I’m going to talk to your Mom when we get there.”

Rick nods, pulling himself up straight. “Whatever. I don’t care.”

“Yeah. Sure, kid. You don’t give a damn about anything; I can see that. Get in.”

Their garage door is closed, so there’s no telling if Mom is even home, but when AJ looks at Rick to share this bit of intelligence, he doesn’t speak, because Rick actually looks somewhat relaxed, his arm bent up between his head and the window, and AJ doesn’t want to break the fragile peace that his big brother seems to have found.

Mom takes care of that when she comes charging out the front door, even before the car has rolled to a halt. She’s a little lady, but she seems twelve feet tall when she’s angry. And right now, she’s steaming. Hands on her hips, her mouth set in a firm white line.

AJ hears Rick sigh, and sees the deep breath in, the schooling of his brother’s face into the ‘you can’t hurt me’ lines that they all know so well.

“Rick…”

“Shut up, AJ!” The order is whispered, which detracts from its seriousness not at all. “Whatever happens, just dummy up, hear me?”

“But I…”

“AJ.”

And he shuts it, as Officer Cambridge opens his door and steps out.

“Mrs. Simon?”

“Yes. What has he done?”

“Who?”

“My son.” Her voice is cold and getting colder with each response, and AJ feels his heart quaver, even though he knows it’s not him she’s mad at.

“Well…” Cambridge tips his hat back and takes a look. It can’t be easy, raising two boys without their father, but he can’t actually fathom why the lady assumes as much as she does. “He didn’t do anything wrong. Neither of them did.”

Cecelia purses her lips and AJ sees the angry glare she flashes at Rick. “Then why is he in a police car?”

“They needed a ride ma’am. Your sons had quite a scare today. They…”

“I heard. Out.” Mom grabs the door handle and whips it open. “Out. In the house. Now.”

Rick goes, wordlessly, taking the full bag with him, leaving AJ with just the towels to carry.

“Mom…”

“Go in the house, AJ. Go upstairs and get cleaned up while I talk to your brother. Thank you, officer.” Her voice is chillingly polite as she slams the car door and steps back.

*************

The sound of gravel rattling as the car pulls out speeds AJ up to the second story. He wants to have a quick wash and get back to the stairs, in the dark corner where he hides to listen when Rick gets yelled at. He left his big brother on the sofa in the living room, after having received no answer when he spoke, only Rick pointing to the stairs, no matter what he tried to say. Just that pointing finger.

“Well.” he hears his mother say, and turns from their bedroom door with his washcloth in his hand to sneak quietly back to the railing and slip down each stair until he can see his mother’s moving shadow. “Explain please.”

“Who just couldn’t wait to tell you, huh?” Rick’s voice is muffled and AJ creeps down another stair, peeking, to see his big brother sitting in the middle of the sofa, knees out wide, head in his hands. “Someone whose kid was there.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but it was Mrs. Steele. What I want to hear is how you let your brother almost lose his life today! How!” Mom is so angry that she almost can’t speak, and AJ sees Rick fold in on himself, each word making him smaller and smaller.

“He got caught in a rip current Mom. That’s all. He’s not hurt. He fought through it like a champ. AJ did everything right.”

“Well I would expect AJ to do everything right. And you think ‘that’s all’ is going to get you out of this? Then why did Kimmy tell her mother that AJ was out in that current, all the way out to sea, while you were on the beach?!”

“Mom, it just happened. It wasn’t…”

Cecelia’s voice is as cold and hard as the ocean was earlier. “It doesn’t just happen! If you’d been watching him…”

And then Rick does something he’s never done before; he gets angry. “I checked with the lifeguard, Mom. I explained to AJ where he could go and where he couldn’t.” AJ stiffens, hidden on the stairs, and wonders if Rick will tell. It’s not likely, what’s between them stays between them. And Rick shoulders the blame for nearly everything. He says there’s no reason for AJ to get grounded too. “And, and, it’s the damned ocean Mom. I can’t control that!”

“You. will. keep. a. civil. tongue. Don’t you ever swear at me, young man!” Cecelia’s temper has come to the fore as well, now that she has her son where she can unload her fear and distress on him. The older Rick gets, the more he terrifies her. If only Jack had taken a different turn that rainy night, she would have some backup for things like this. And some better insight into her boy’s mind. He who is so like his father.

AJ can see his brother’s fingers tightening in his crunchy hair. “I wasn’t swearing AT you, Mom. You’ve got what you want. AJ’s fine. The golden child is fine! Can I just go take a shower?”

Cecelia rounds on him like a tigress. “And what exactly does that mean?”

“What?”

“The golden child. He’s just a baby. You’re sixteen years old. And you’re supposed to protect him!”

“AJ’s not a baby, Mom. He’s eleven. And I would…d…do anything for him.” AJ hears the skip and his heart jolts in his chest. Rick swallows hard and begs quietly. “Can I go? Please?”

“I’m not finished with you.”

There’s a noise then, one AJ’s never heard before. He peeks, and realizes the sound is coming out of Rick. Part groan and part howl, it’s all pain. AJ grabs for his own legs, trying to still their shaking. This is bad. Very bad. Bad in a way that’s about to go black.

He’s been used pretty hard today, physically, mentally and emotionally, and Rick just explodes. “Well, I am finished! I’m done! I can’t take it anymore. Your son is fine. You got what you want. AJ’s here and there’s not one fucking thing wrong with him. And, as usual, I’m left eating shit! Let’s just call it like it is Mom, you love him and you just put up with me!”

The crack of Cecelia’s palm across Rick’s cheek stuns them all. She’s never struck either of her sons. Ever. Not even a spanking.

Rick’s mouth drops open, and his hand starts up to his pale face and the hot red mark, then falls back to his knee, which is jittering like a dead leaf in a high wind.

Her son’s name is a breath of sound in Cecelia’s throat and she tries to grab at his shirt as he jumps off the couch and bolts by her, slamming open the door so hard it sticks in the plaster, and taking off down the sidewalk at a run.

************

“My God.” Cecelia gasps, sinking down to sit on the edge of the coffee table, face white and hands trembling. She regards the right one, the one that did the damage, with horror. How could she have done something so awful? How could she have raised her hand to her child?

“mom?” AJ kneels beside her, reaching for her hand. “mom?”

“AJ?” 

Her voice is so alarmingly disconnected that AJ shakes her shoulder. “MOM!”

She turns to cup his smooth face into her palm, trying to smile, and bursts into tears. AJ does his best to comfort her, and wonders how the hell things got this bad, this fast.

**********

Hands shoved down into his pockets to try to control their shaking, Rick walks, fast, letting everything he wants to say, wants to do, flow down his body and out through his feet. His life is a pile of shit, just a pure fucking shit show extraordinaire. It’s time to bail. Past time. He doesn’t need two more years of stupid school, which is only a cage that makes him feel stupider by the day. He can work. Mr. Mahoney doesn’t have to tell him how good he is with cars, the people that keep coming in and saying they want him to do the brakes, or the tranny, or the oil change they need, that tells him. It’s a talent that he’s worked hard on, turned it into a skill he can use. That’s way more important than whatever the fuck gerunds are and where they go in a sentence.

Things like gerunds are AJ territory. Rick’s sure that the kid knows what they are and where they go and even what goddamned use they might be. His heart aches a little as he rounds the corner from Kettner onto First Avenue and heads for the garage. He’s got a jacket in his locker; and at least one change of clothes for when he gets really dirty. That and the two week’s pay that Mr. Mahoney owes him will just have to get him through to…wherever. 

But AJ will never forgive him if he leaves. He made a promise when they were in their room, the morning of Dad’s funeral, while he helped AJ tie his good shoes. Just to make his little brother stop crying, that was why. Because AJ hadn’t really stopped since that first night. Rick had told him that he could just quit it, because even though Dad wasn’t there anymore, Rick himself was. And AJ could miss Dad, and he could be sad, but he didn’t have to cry anymore, because Rick would be there for him. Always. When shit started to go crazy.

Rick smiles to himself as he recalls the tiny smile that had come out of AJ in response. And right there the blond kid had realized that life was going to go on, and he could cry, or he could get his chin up and face it. It hasn’t been easy, for either of them, the six years and change since then. It’s never going to be easy. But they always have each other. What will even happen if he upends that?

“Rick.” Pat Mahoney is a big bluff Irishman who knows everyone and has the kind of affable charm that ends up getting people to trust him with almost anything. Jack Simon had been his friend, and a good, honest man to boot. When Rick had come in looking for a job, Pat would have put him on pumping gas and washing windshields on connection alone. 

Finding out that the boy had the makings of an excellent mechanic, the kind that could double his business once word got around, Pat had given him a raise and counted himself lucky. He also tried to be a friend to his young goldmine. Not a father figure, because that was beyond what the boy would accept, but a friend. An ear to listen, one, he liked to think, that Rick actually responded to, instead of letting it pass right through as he did with most everyone else.

Now the boy is standing on threshold between the shop and the office, tall and lean and aloof, scuffing his toes in the ratty old motorcycle boots he likes to wear, and… Pat’s brow furrows as he takes in the rest of Rick, especially the red mark on his face, the bruise that’s already starting to color his cheekbone. “Have you been fighting, lad? That why you’re late?”

“Am I late?” 

Pat stares at the bewildered look that the boy throws at the clock out in the shop, and beckons him to the chair in front of his desk. “Sit down boyo. Yes, you’re late. I was on the point of calling your mother…”

One of Rick’s capable hands lifts and he wipes it over the puffy, assaulted side of his face. “Yeah, please don’t, okay.”

Pat gets up and shuts the flimsy door, closing out the sounds of his evening crew starting up. “You don’t mean to say your sweet mother done that?”

Pale aqua eyes fill with tears that are just as quickly blinked away. “I deserved it. I…I got mad. I swore. I deserved every minute of it.”

Being father to two boys and two girls himself, Pat knows that there are times when a child may need a swat, but he can’t imagine Cecelia Simon laying a hand on either of her boys. They cause her trouble, of course, that being what children do, but they are fine boys. No JD behavior, no disgraces, well, no large ones anyway.

“Wellnow, I can believe you might have talked out of turn. Used a word or two your mother didn’t teach you. But you’re nothing like a boy who deserves a crack in the mouth like what you’ve got there.”

Rick shrugs, that distant standoffish gesture that gets the girls in his class staring. And shouldn’t he know about that, as one of them is his own Elizabeth. “Can I get my pay, sir?”

Pat stares into the boy’s eyes for a long minute. “You’re not thinking of doin’ a runner are you? Because understand your problems though I do, I’ll not let that happen.”

“No. I just…I’d better go home, I guess.”

“Straight into mine own eyes are you lying, lad. It’s a gift, that.”

“Mr. Mahoney…” Rick sighs and puts his dark head into his hands.

“You had an argument.”

A small nod, accompanied by what sounds like a quite painful little laugh.

“It happens, son. That doesn’t mean…” Pat Mahoney breaks off as he sees his own eldest, Tommy, catch sight of Rick and swing the door open.

“Rick. I heard about the mess at the beach, man. AJ okay?”

“Were you there, Tommy? I didn’t see your T-bucket.”

“No. Suze was though. She called me. Lots of other people called me too. It’s all over town.” Susan Hanford, Tommy’s girlfriend, is a cheerleader. The head cheerleader. All over town is probably an understatement.

“Is the kid okay?” Tommy’s voice takes on a note of concern as Rick turns toward him, revealing his bruised face. “Are you okay?”

“Both fine. AJ’s probably chowing down on mom’s pot roast or something by now, and I’m gonna be okay, too.”

“Suze made it sound like you nearly checked out.”

“Nah. I’m good. You know girls, man. Everything’s gotta be a big deal.”

“Yeah. Girls.” Silence falls, and Rick takes the opportunity to stand up and ask for his pay again, betting that Mr. Mahoney will let it go, and he can get his stuff out of his locker and beat feet. Then Tommy can tell his Dad the whole, probably wildly embellished, story and by the time any of it matters, he’ll be on his way somewhere else.

Gaze fixed on the tall lean boy before him, Pat gets out his cashbox and ledger, checking the time sheet and counting out the eighty-six dollars and twenty cents that is owed for the last two week’s work. “Whatever happened, lad, you’re better off at home, do you hear?”

“Yes, sir. I hear.” Rick takes the crumpled bills and folds them small, tucking them down into the front pocket of his jeans, fitting the two dimes into the watch pocket as well.

“That you don’t, but I’m done wasting my breath on you. Go home. And be here by nine tomorrow morning. It’s Mr. Denby and he doesn’t want anyone else working on that Chrysler of his.”

“Got it.” Rick brushes by Tommy on his way out to the shop, and they lose sight of him as he rounds the corner to the lockers, both of them hoping he really is okay.

************ 

AJ is not eating his mother’s pot roast. She’s too nervous to have made anything at all for dinner, pacing the confines of the kitchen like a criminal on death row, every few minutes lifting weary reddened eyes to the clock over the stove. Officer Cambridge and his partner had come back with Rick’s dirt bike a while ago and left it in the garage. Then they’d talked to her for a few minutes, in that way that policemen seem to have, serious and quiet. She’d listened, her lips pressed tightly together, making AJ think that Rick was probably going to lose all the hard work he’s put in on rebuilding that motorcycle. But she hadn’t said anything at all when she came in, she’d just gone back to the phone and started making calls again. 

Cecelia has called every friend of Rick’s she can think of, including Amanda Pennington, who AJ didn’t even think she knew about. No one has seen him, but Amanda had taken the opportunity to say she was home from Oregon State for the next couple months and it would be boss if he called her. 

Mom had also called the garage, when they both looked at the calendar tacked to the wall, and saw, in Rick’s neat draftsman’s capitals, ‘WORK 5-10’ on today. Pat Mahoney had reported that Rick had been in, asked for his pay, and then asked if he could go home. Which request Pat had granted immediately due to what Rick had been through, and thank Jesus your boys are all right, if you don’t mind me saying so.

The new information from Mr. Mahoney only agitated Cecelia more as far as AJ could see. She manages to sit down for a minute or two, but never in the same seat, and then she’s back up, pacing from the front door to the kitchen door to the bay window.

“Mom.”

“Not now, AJ.”

The knowledge of his own part in this mess is getting heavier with each step she takes. “Mom. Please.”

“AJ, honey, why don’t you get ready for bed? I can’t think right now. Your brother…sometimes I just…he’s so difficult. Why can’t he be as good and obedient as you are?”

She swings away from him toward the front room as she says this, so she doesn’t see the wounded look in his china blue eyes. But she does hear his insistent, “Mom.” as he follows her to the big front window, standing at her elbow as she twitches the curtain aside and scans the silent street for Rick.

“Where is he? How dare he run away from me like this?”

AJ bites his tongue and doesn’t remind her that she smacked Rick in the mouth like he was a naughty puppy. To any kid, that is just cause for taking off. But more so for Rick, because he tries so hard to do everything right for her. And she doesn’t see all the times that Rick stays on the path; she only sees when he strays. AJ’s only eleven, but he knows that’s got to hurt.

“But Mom. Please come and sit down for a second.” She lets him lead her to the sofa and takes the end space, while he sits on the ottoman. “Mom. It was my fault, what happened today. I didn’t…”

“AJ, sweetheart, don’t you even try to take the blame for your brother. It’s his job to keep an eye on you, and…”

“But Mom! He did keep an eye on me.” AJ rushes through his confession as fast as he possibly can, so there won’t be any more interruptions. “He told me where I could go and where I should stay away from. And I didn’t listen. I was diving and I went after something that looked like a silver dollar, and, and, the rip caught me. There was nothing I could do. I fought it, but it was just too strong.”

His mother takes both his hands and holds them tightly. “If he had stayed with you, it wouldn’t have happened.”

Now that he’s opened the tap, AJ can’t seem to close it, and his worst fear bubbles to the surface. “I think it would have. Except it would have caught us both.” AJ whispers, tears beginning to run down beside his nose. “I think it would have and he would have done the exact same thing. Kept me floating until they came for me. He didn’t even care if he drowned, Mom. He almost did. Rick almost drowned to save me! And they kept hitting him and telling him to breathe. And he didn’t breathe for the longest time. I was sure…I thought…about Dad.”

Cecelia swallows hard, keeping the tears at bay. It’s downright evil how some days they can sail through with no one thinking about Jack, and other days every thought has teeth, and she’ll find AJ curled up against Rick in the morning, the younger boy’s hand on his older brother’s back, feeling for his heartbeat, making sure he’s still there. “AJ, I can’t. I just can’t talk about your father right now.”

“You love Rick, don’t you Mom?” Earnest blue eyes, wet with tears, turn up to her face. “You love him, right? It’s not…like he said…you only love me? Right?”

Her son outweighs her, but Cecelia pulls him off the ottoman and over into her arms. “Oh, AJ. Yes. Yes, I love your brother. I love him very much. He…I hurt him very badly, saying what I did. And acting as I did. He wouldn’t have said those things if he didn’t believe them, and that is my fault. I wish he was here so that I could tell him so, and I hope he’s all right.” 

They’re both crying then, holding each other tightly, worry heavy in their hearts.

*********** 

Rick’s still walking, has been since he shut his locker and went out the big bay door. He’s not really going anywhere and he knows he must have covered the same ground a dozen times as he put himself through the whole scene over and over again, beating himself up for the anger, for the hot, goading words. Thinking of all the things he might have said that would have avoided the blow up, trying to imagine what he might say when he sees her again, how he can clear the air. 

He doesn’t notice when the streetlights come on, or when the signs on the stores and restaurants start to go dark, closing up for the night. All he sees is his mother’s shocked face, the white circles around her eyes, the bottomless well of pain she lives with so clear. Maybe it would be better if he never went home. They’d be together, Mom and AJ, no one there to make trouble. No one getting grounded for his grades or his girls or his cigarettes or his damned motorcycle, because that’s so not AJ that it’s laughable. There would be way less trouble for his mother to deal with, she could be happy, no bumps in her road at all.

It never occurs to him, because she’s never told him, that his exploits often remind his mother of a young man she adored. A dashing young man, that sang X-rated British pub songs under her window. A handsome young man with a devilish look in his eye, that drove up to her house in a Model T with no doors, with a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth, and whistled at her for their dates. A lighthearted young man, that balanced ice cream cones on his forehead, and took her to every county fair for miles, throwing baseballs for hours until he won her the biggest prize. That gave her the first alcohol in her young life, and laughed like a mad bastard when she got drunk as a lord and began to sing her high school fight song at the top of her lungs. 

But when that man died, and she was left alone, she couldn’t remember those things, they hurt too much. And seeing that same wild streak in his son, seeing the way Rick throws himself at life, just like Jack did, and knowing how that ended, it’s agony for her. 

So Rick doesn’t know what informs his mother’s fears. He only remembers the deep-voiced blond man that went to work every day, and played catch every evening, and told him wonderful, hair-raising stories about how he and his friends saved the world. The big warm guy who gave hugs that shook him until he hiccupped with laughter, and had the mustache that brushed his cheek every night when his father gave him a kiss and told him to sleep tight.

The tears hit Rick all at once and he stumbles, fighting to clear his vision, taking deep breaths as he battles it back. He stops in a dark doorway, leaning his hot forehead against the cool brick, forcing Jack back into the well he keeps those feelings in, shoving him down hard when he reaches out, blue eyes shining with love, the baseball that’s so unmanageable in Rick’s little hand, suddenly so small, gripped so comfortably in Dad’s. _This is how you want to hold it, son. Don’t just whip the ball as hard as you can, throw. It’s all about control._

Crumbs of brick patter down as Rick bangs his head against the wall, trying to knock the memory out. They’d thrown the ball back and forth, Dad instructing and himself absorbing, until the streetlights came on and Mom came to the door with AJ on her hip to ask if they were going to come in and eat before the roast turned to shoe leather, or did Jack think he was going to create the next DiMaggio in one day?

That baseball’s in the pocket of Jack’s glove, in the bottom drawer of Rick’s dresser, under the sweaters he never wears. He put them both there before they left for the funeral home. Told his mother he lost his ball and asked if he could he have a new one. When the world turns so black he can’t see any way out, he gets that ball out and grips it until his hand aches, thinking, it’s all about control. 

AJ knows it’s there, that baseball, but he’s never once touched it, never asked to hold it. Just like Rick doesn’t touch the pair of their father’s Clarks that sit in the very back of their closet. Like every kid does, AJ had loved to clump around, playing pretend, and those Clarks were the shoes that Dad would always send AJ to get when they were going to do something fun, like go to the beach, or the circus, or the hardware store. But if AJ puts them on, he does it alone, because Rick has never seen him do it. But sometimes when AJ gets low, they’re moved, those shoes, a few inches right, left or back. 

“Hey. Hey, kid! You all right?”

When he’s run an arm across his face and gotten his shit together, at least a little, Rick looks up to see a massive guy in a sport shirt and slacks, a damp bar towel over his shoulder and a cigar in his hand.

“Damn, Elmore was right, you look like shit on a shingle, little man.” The cigar goes from hand to mouth and a big paw thumps down his shoulder, drawing him out of the doorway and into the glow from the streetlight. “C’mon, kiddo.”

Rick lets the guy steer him, scrubbing both hands over his face, feeling the air around him change to the warm interior of what has to be a bar, he can smell the beer and the spirits, the cigarette smoke and the aroma of greasy food.

“I thought you were supposed to run the drunks out, Charlie. Not in.” There’s a dapper black man in the blue work clothes of a bus driver or night watchman on the second stool and he watches with an amused grin as the bartender parks Rick in the dark, at the ass end of the bar, and then slides around, bending to pull a cold Coke out of the cooler, uncapping it and setting it up.

“Kid ain’t drunk. Just a little effed up. Right, kid?” The soda bottle is nudged closer, chill against his knuckles. “You drink some of that. Now.” Charlie heads off in response to a shout from the stools at the other end, grabbing mugs.

The green glass stutters against the polished surface of the bar the first time Rick goes for it, and he sets it down carefully, makes a fist, then presses his palm flat on the wood, staring at his jittering fingers, breathing deep.

“I’m Elmore.” A dark hand is held out to shake and he forces himself to meet the friendly gesture in kind.

“Rick.”

“Nice to meet you, Rick. Now settle your young self down and drink some of that CoCola before Charlie yells at you again.”

Somehow it’s easier to do with Elmore’s encouragement, and the cold sweetness jolts through him as he sips, settling the shakes. Before he knows it the bottle’s empty, and Elmore has gone behind the bar and set him up a full one.

“That’s some better. You got color back in your face now, boy.” Elmore sets himself another Budweiser and heads back to his stool. “You get in a fight? That why you was hiding in the dark?”

Taking his hand off the cold glass, Rick touches the mark on his face, wondering how bad it looks now.

“I seen worse. Least whoever it was only got you the once.”

Rick nods, turning away. 

Elmore lifts a hand and when the waitress heads over, he says, “Irma honey, I would like me one of your biggest hamburgers, my dear. With cheese and guacamole on top. And some fries. A whole lot of fries. The same for my friend here.”

Rick starts at that and turns back around. “Thank you, sir. But I don’t think I can eat. I feel… I don’t even know…just…terrible.”

Dark eyes appraise him carefully. “It’s Elmore, not sir. And I can see you feel terrible. But some hot food’ll work wonders.”

Pencil poised over her pad, Irma smiles at Rick. “How do you like yours, cutie pie? Burnt to a crisp or still mooing? Or somewhere in between?”

Neither of them are going to take no for an answer, and their kindness upsets the delicate emotional balance he’s managed. Before the dam can break, he folds his arms on the bar top and puts his head down, hiding his face.

“I’ll just make it a regular, how’s that?” Rick feels her gentle hand on his shoulder and he nods. “Be up in a minute or two.”

“Ima guess it’s more than a smack in the face that’s ailing you.” Through the wood, Rick hears the clunk as Elmore takes another drink of beer and sets the bottle back down. “But you look pretty well cared for. So my guess is you’re running away. Or done already run away and now you’re here. Your father hit you boy?”

“No.” he croaks, lifting his head long enough to get another sip of soda into his dry throat. “My father’s dead.”

“Step-father?”

“No. I…it was…it was a really bad day. And I got in an argument with my Mom. I can be really stupid sometimes, an idiot, and I was, and I said something, and she hit me. She shoulda hit me harder. I deserved it.”

“Then why don’t you go home and tell her you’re sorry? It’s gotta be past your curfew. Almost last call.”

Rick thinks for a long minute, and the product of all his hours of wandering appears in his head, and he stammers out, “I’m sorry I said it…but not because it isn’t true. I’m sorry that I…that I…figured it out. That now we all know it. I spoke it. I made it real, you know?”

Elmore, who left home when he was not much older than the boy beside him, because he could work and there would be one less mouth to feed, nods sagely. “I know exactly what you’re talking about. But maybe something like that could make it easier for y’all, not harder. I’m guessing there’s younger kids involved? Brothers? Sisters?”

“Little brother. AJ. He’s eleven.”

“That’s why you ain’t on a bus already, huh? AJ would miss you.”

“More like I’d miss him. He’d be way better off without…” At that moment, Rick realizes what he’s saying, and what today’s outcome would have been if there hadn’t been anyone dumb enough to dive into a rip current.

There’s a strong hand, a Dad kind of hand, on his shoulder now. “So maybe he wouldn’t be better off?”

“I don’t know what to do.” Rick admits, unable to keep the quaver out of his voice, rubbing his forehead. “There’s times I’d sell my soul to be the smart one.”

Elmore frowns deeply, and squeezes the broadening shoulder under his palm. “Well here comes Irma with our dinners. So let’s eat. And anything you want to talk about, you just go ahead and talk. How’s that sound?”

Rick nods miserably, managing to find a smile for Irma as she sets the platter before him.

“My goodness, what a smile. And those blue eyes.” she coos. “You must have girls chasing you through the streets, cutie pie.”

“Only til their dads find out. I’m one of those bad influences you hear about.”

“Well if I were twenty years younger, you could influence me all you wanted. Need another Coke?”

His real grin comes out this time, and Irma’s eyes widen. “Now you’re making me wish I was twenty years younger, you rascal. Enjoy your food.”

The hamburger is perfect, greasy and hot, covered with melted cheese and a thick paste of fresh guacamole. Heaven in a bite. Rick gives in to his hunger and eats with the gusto that only teenage boys seem to possess. Like they have hollow legs, Mom says, when he and AJ eat everything she’s made for dinner and start looking around for more.

When even the last few salty fries are gone, he wipes his mouth and looks over at Elmore, who is leisurely chewing his way through his own burger, regarding him with a small smile. “You want another one, Rick?”

“Better not. Suppose they have anything sweet?”

Elmore raises his hand again. “Irma. Bring this young man a piece of that pecan pie. Now why don’t you tell me why today was such a bad day, boy.”

When the whole story is told, Rick spreads his hands on the bar top and forces his tensed muscles to relax. 

“Well. I got to think that your mama got the crap scared right outta her today. Probably the only two things she cares about in this world in danger, almost losing you both…”

“But I did everything I could…” Rick flares.

“And I’m sure, deep down, she knows that. Deep down she’s thanking god you were there and that you’re the kind of boy who didn’t think nothing of his ownself when the threat came. You recognized it and you took it on. That’s mighty brave. Don’t you ever think she doesn’t recognize that.”

“Then why did she shit all over me?” Rick gasps. “Why am I…never good enough for her? Why am I the bad one, the lazy one, the disrespectful one, the dumb one?”

“Your mother never called you any of those things, now did she?”

“No.” Rick admits softly. “But everybody else does. And she sure punishes me like she believes them.”

“I don’t know your mother, but from what you’ve told me, I’d guess she’s a little afraid. You’re turning into a man right before her eyes, and she wants you to be a good man. If she’s like every other mother on the face of this earth, she wants you to be happy. You got to think how hard it is for her; how she must think she’s doing it wrong, when you get in trouble, whatever the source. What a struggle it’s got to be for her, especially if you’re more like him than like her. She can’t understand you from inside herself, and she ain’t got your daddy there to help her.”

Tears fill his eyes again and he blinks them away, brushing the back of his hand quickly down his cheek to remove the evidence. “I know. I’ve always tried to do everything I can for her. To make her worry less. I just…I’m not good with rules. Most of them don’t even have a reason behind them, they’re just there. I mean, I’m a better driver than those eighty year old ladies who have to look through the steering wheel, but I can’t get a license because I won’t get a permit first? And then its _why can’t you just do things the normal way, Rick?”_

“Ain’t nothing easy, that’s for sure.” Elmore agrees. “But even if she doesn’t always understand, you got to know she loves you. You know kids yourself that their parents don’t care. Everyone does. That’s not you.”

Rick nods quietly. He knows plenty of kids that have it way harder than he does, and he hangs his head, ashamed again of his bullshit behavior, his stupid need that she’d just once say something he could hang his hat on, something that shows she knows he tries.

“Time!” Charlie bawls from the center of the back bar. “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

“Well now I got no choices.” Rick hops off the barstool and fishes in his pocket.

“Stop that, boy. Now I said I was buying you dinner, and I am.” Elmore slaps a ten dollar bill down and sets his empty beer bottle on it. “I’ll drive you home too.”

“No. I gotta walk it. Think some more.” Standing tall, squaring his shoulders, Rick sticks out his hand, and looks the older man straight in the eye. “Thank you. Really. For the burger, and for sitting there listening to me whine.”

Elmore shakes with a brilliant smile. “You are a fine young man, Rick. I think you’re gonna do all right.” Then he fishes in his own pocket and pulls a card out, holding it out to the tall, slim white kid in the dirty motorcycle boots. “If you find yourself out of high school with no prospects you like, give me a call. Number’s on the card.”

Rick looks at it in the dim light. Elmore James, Field Mechanics Manager – West Coast, Pacific Oil Corporation.

“I can always use me a fella who thinks around corners instead of in straight lines. I’m serious now. You call me and I’ll get you an interview wherever you say. Argentina? Mexico? Alaska? We got people everywhere.”

Rick tucks the card away, grinning. “You’re damned straight I’ll call. Thank you. Sincerely.”

“You are quite welcome. Now go home and hug your mama.”

*************** 

AJ’s nearly asleep on one end of the couch, and Cecelia is asleep on the other end, when Rick opens the front door. He can feel how sketchy the catch and the lock are from his previous bullshit, and makes a mental note to get himself out of bed in time to go down to Tanner’s hardware and fix what he broke before he has to be to work tomorrow. 

He closes it behind him, careful and quiet, and heads over to the sofa. Up close, he can see the effects of this bastard day on the rest of his family. They’ve both been crying, and his heart aches afresh. Whatever he thought, whatever he felt, whatever he had to take, he should have taken it. His job is to protect these two. It’s what he’s for, now that Dad’s not here to do it. That and fix stuff is all he can do for them, because it’s surely time to face that he’ll never be the smart one, the successful one, and that the sooner he looks that in the eye and deals with it, the better he’ll be able to handle…well…everything.

While he’s sorting this out in his head, some brotherly intuition gets AJ stirring. Without warning, Rick has an armful of weeping blond kid, and is the recipient of a hug that makes his spine creak.

“You’re back. I knew you wouldn’t leave. I KNEW you wouldn’t. Because when you make a promise, you keep a promise.”

Tears sting Rick’s eyes. AJ had been so little, so vulnerable when Dad died, that after that first time, he had begun to extract a promise from Rick on almost everything. _Promise you’ll play catch with me after school. Promise you won’t get up to go to the bathroom when Dracula comes on the screen. Promise you’ll share the chocolate milk if Mom buys a bottle. Promise you’ll be here when I wake up._ And he’s made absolutely sure that he never broke a single one of those promises, not even when he almost wet his pants while they saw Bride of Frankenstein because either she or the damned monster was on screen ninety percent of the time.

“Hey. You know you can always count on me, right?” Rick returns the hug with equal force, understanding why there are still mornings he wakes up with AJ’s palm on his chest; sometimes the physical is the only proof the human mind will accept. “No matter what, right?”

“I know.” AJ answers firmly. “You’ll be there for me. Always.” Then the kid’s voice drops to a whisper. “Mom was awful worried though.”

Rick sets his brother gently away from him and rubs the mark on his face with a tentative hand. “I know. That was wrong of me. And you take a lesson from my bullshit, AJ. Don’t ever run away – it doesn’t solve a single damned thing.”

AJ watches Rick turn toward their sleeping mother and square his shoulders. He has a pretty good idea what it took for Rick to put aside his own pain and humiliation, how hard it’s going to be for his headstrong brother to bend. But he also knows that there’s no one as brave and good as Rick in this whole world.

“Mom?” Rick whispers softly, palms rubbing nervously down his jeans. “Mom?”

Though she’s deeply asleep, some part of Cecelia Simon hears her son’s voice and brings her to the surface, slightly disoriented, and still upset from the strain of this hellish day. “Rick?”

Closing his eyes to avoid meeting her eyes, which he’s absolutely sure are going to be full of the same anger for his running away that was present for his earlier outburst, he straightens his spine and gets his chin up. “I’m sorry I mouthed off to you, Mom. I should’ve kept a better eye on AJ. And I shouldn’t have taken him on the bike after you told me not to. It was…we were fine until…it was just a really hard day, and I…I…tried. I tried to…but…I never…I just lost it, I guess. Anyway…I…I apologize, and I’ll get rid of the bike. And whatever you’re thinking for punishment, I absolutely deserve it.”

Small fist pressed to her mouth, Cecelia can only stare at her elder son. At the tears that are streaking his cheeks. At the horrible bruise she left on his poor, dear face. And she realizes something. Another way in which he is so like Jack. No matter what happens, Rick doesn’t hide. Hasn’t ever. From the first firm little nod when she’d asked him if he’d poured the flour across the kitchen floor and stomped through it, to the cold pre-dawn just this year that she’d caught him sneaking in the back door smelling of tequila and cigarettes. He might make mistakes, bad choices, stupid decisions, however you wanted to label them. But he also takes the responsibility that comes with them.

That’s the courage that drew her to Jack Simon in the first place. The sense that, in any situation, he would always do something. Maybe not know exactly what to do, but more that he would never just stand by and let events carry him along. According to A J’s description of this morning, Rick had done exactly that, acted. And because he did, she still has her boys, both safe, both healthy.

“You don’t have to get rid of the bike.” she says quietly, watching his eyes fly open in surprise. “But you do have to get a license and put a plate on it if you intend to ride it anywhere other than the desert. And that isn’t me talking, that is the police talking. The officers that brought you home brought your bike back a couple of hours later and explained the trouble you could have gotten into with it, young man.”

“Sorry, Mom. I’ll take care of it, I promise.”

“All right. Your brother told me what happened this morning in a lot greater detail. I know I didn’t give you the opportunity to explain, and I apologize for that. I was devastated…” A sob interrupts her and both of her boys reach for her, AJ hugging her tight and Rick taking her hand. “I couldn’t think how I would ever go on if both of you were lost.”

“We’re not though.” AJ clings tighter. “We’re right here, Mom. Because Rick knew what to do.”

The older brother sits heavily on the arm of the sofa. “Don’t fool yourself kiddo. I didn’t have a clue. I just jumped in the water and then let all of Dad’s lectures run through my brain.”

“You didn’t just stand there…” Cecelia clarifies quietly, “…and your father would have been immensely proud of you for that alone.”

They’re all silent for a moment, thinking their own thoughts of the man, then she squeezes Rick’s hand, taking note again of the fact that her son is almost a man in his own right. “I’m proud of you as well. I know I’m guilty of scolding you more than I praise you, a lot more, and I apologize. And I’ll try very hard to do better. But I don’t just put up with you, my darling, please tell me you know that.”

Cecelia realizes she was mistaken the moment he speaks. Her elder son is already a man, a fine one, as it turns out. “That was a horrible, bitchy, insensitive thing for me to say, Mom. To you especially, who’s done everything in her power to be everything I needed since he died. I know you love me, even when I’m being a pain in the ass. I need to have some consideration for you; stop making you worry about me all the time, and I’ll do better myself, I promise.”

AJ is staring at the carpet, lip bitten hard between his teeth, understanding somewhere within himself what a huge step Rick’s just taken here. He’s not making a bullshit bargain that he’ll sidle around as soon as Mom lets down her guard. He’s really offering to be a grown up, if she can agree to treat him like one. And the two people he loves the best in the whole world are looking each other in the eye again, which can’t be anything but good.

Rick can feel his mother’s inspection, and he smiles at her, for some reason remembering the day she came home from the hospital with AJ. How she handed the baby off to dad, sat down in the rocker and welcomed his five-year-old self into her lap, cuddled him close, asked him if the gingersnap supply had held out while she was gone, and never once said anything about the sea change the new addition was making in their lives.

“Well then…” Cecelia takes a deep breath and lets go of the tangle of emotions in her heart. “… we’ll drive downtown tomorrow and you can do whatever it is you need to, to get yourself and that bike legal. Then you’ll fix that front door please.”

“It’ll have to be after work, Mom. I got a monster Chrysler coming in courtesy of Councilman Denby tomorrow. Besides, I was gonna give AJ five bucks and let him take the driving test for me.”

“You will do no such thing, young man…”

AJ jumps as Rick starts to laugh, that warm, teasing glint back in his ocean-blue eyes, and grabs him in a hug, setting him between them like a human shield. “Jeez mom, relax, you better be able to take a joke, because I don’t think I’m ever growing up that much.”

_Please don’t,_ AJ thinks, held tight in his brother’s arms as their mother gives in and starts to laugh, shoving them both toward the stairs and out of her hair. _Please don’t; because I love you, Rick, just like you are._

He doesn’t say it as he wrests out of the hug and they race up to their room, pushing and checking each other, because he doesn’t even have to. They’re good. Not perfect, but really, really good. Now all he’s got to do is come up with a way to get in touch with Uncle Ray and replace Rick’s Yankees hat.


End file.
